3 | 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐃 ▹ LOKI LAUFEYSON

xv. the stronghold

A M O R A

The forest was eerily quiet as Amora followed Heimdall and Ragna toward the mountains. It was as though the animals knew that something was amiss—that something was on the hunt—and had chosen the hide away.

They certainly weren't wrong.

As their trek started upward in the mountains, Heimdall stopped and turned back. His eyes focused on some distant point.

"Hela knows we took the sword," he spoke before starting to climb again, his long legs carrying him faster, "We're going to have to evacuate the city."

Amora glanced back over her shoulder but only saw the vague, blue line of of the Bifrost bridge on the horizon. "What do you think she'll do?"

"Hela's only challenge before was from our armies," Ragna said, "With the Bifrost sword gone, any citizen could be a threat to her. And now she has an undead army at her side."

The mountains eventually revealed a great set of doors almost as tall as the cliff face. Heimdall crouched down over an engraving on the ground and ran his fingers over the stone. Ancient tunes burned to life and the light flowed to the doors. They opened with a low creak, and warm light spilled out from inside. Amora stepped inside and her jaw dropped.

The hall stretched out farther than the low light of the fixtures could reach. And there were more people than Amora could count. Asgardians milled about, turning to the newcomers.

Several stepped forward, coming to attention as Heimdall removed the sword from his back.

He held it out. "Hela will be searching for this. She will burn through everything and everyone until she finds it." His voice echoed through the hall. "We must move quickly to evacuate those still in the city."

"I need people to go and bring those that are left here to safety." He returned the sword to the sheath on his back. "It will be dangerous. But our army is dead. You are our soldiers now."

Men and women began hugging their loved ones and collecting what few weapons they had before moving toward the front. Amora looked out across the dirty and weary faces, set firm despite the trembling hands and worrying fingers, and she found a new fire burning within herself.

This was the might of Asgard.

Its strength was not just in its armies, but in its people as well.

One face caught her eye, and Amora gasped. "Huginn!"

She barely knew the man, but her relief had her rushing forward and flinging her arms around his shoulders, nearly knocking him over. "You're alive!"

"I appreciate the concern." The spy chuckled as he pulled back, but the smile did not quite reach his eyes.

Amora took a shaky breath. "Huginn...I am so, so sor—"

"Let's have none of that," Huginn dismissed her with another halfhearted smile. It flickered into something harder. "There's nothing we can do about that now. Not anymore."

"I know." Amora nodded. "You're right. You were right. Before."

Huginn's face eased into something soft and sad, and he glanced back over his shoulder. A group of people sat in the floor nearby. One woman stood out from the others, her bright clothes looking nothing like the usual Asgardian cloaks.

They were Xandarian clothes.

The realization hit Amora like a bolt of lightning to the chest, and she remembered Huginn's words from before. There are people on this planet worth protecting too.